9 Crimes
by NellaElla
Summary: A short one shot inspired by the song 9 Crimes by Damien Rice.


It wasn't supposed to be this way. Then again, a lot of things weren't supposed to be this way. Nobody really talks about the hard times or the things that 'could' happen; they just tell you about what's supposed to happen and it gives you a false sense of security. If everyone expects the same thing, there's got to be some truth behind a collective mindset, right? It won't be bad, it won't be perfect but it'll be pretty damn close, right? But no one told you about the broken plates on the kitchen floor or the cracked hard wood floors. No one told you about how cold the other side of the bed can feel or how silent a house full of people can sound. They forgot to mention there are a lot of excuses that don't even go on to be explained, or how hollow the walls sound when there's screams echoing off them and how long the words would haunt you afterwards.

And you never got a warning for the way you'd look at yourself in the mirror after all this, your eyes deep set and glassy; or the way you'd sit and wait for hours even if you didn't know for sure if they were coming home or not.

This wasn't what you did. Or at least you think so. There's no excuse but there's got to be a reason and you're the prime suspect. Maybe you held on a little too tight or maybe you weren't always there at the right time but you were always there for the wrong ones. Either way when you first get into a relationship people always tell you how great it will be. And you grow to expect things and not think twice about them being thrown back in your face.

For now you just sit on the floor in the hallway, your fingers trailing through the carpet. It's late and you wanted to cook dinner, but that was your first crime. When he came home to find you covered in red sauce and brandishing a butcher knife, you shouldn't have been so defensive. One offhand comment and you cut loose. That was your second crime. When you snapped instead of comforted. But you were just so tired and it'd been the first normal day in weeks. Then when he retorted and you'd thrown the tomato sauce down on the counter, that was the third crime. You'd made a mess and that never helps, what made you react that way? You don't know, but the retaliation was enough to remind you of the mistake. The gradual raising of voices, that was the fourth crime. Nothing gets solved with yelling and you know you can't win screaming matches. You've already got the neighbors worried and you're throat is sore from all the things you've said. When you turned you stepped closer instead of farther away, that was the fifth crime. You don't invade someone's space when they've already got so little room to share. You don't fit in that space anymore, that space you once felt safe and welcome in. The way you let his words hit so close to home, that was the sixth crime. You've learned how weightless and careless words are and how little they mean in the end. But the way he phrases them, it's a new twist and turn every time and you crash into them not thinking of how you don't have your guard up. Spewing them back, that was the seventh crime. Harsh words don't make steady beds, and now you have to look into his eyes and watch as he processes your words and how they sink into his skin like burning coals. Your eighth crime was turning your back to him. Because you didn't want to do this anymore, because you'd sobered up and you didn't want to face the aftermath, and guilt is such a heavy, heavy burden. But you're so scared underneath it all that he'll find the danger inside you and the anxiousness and the worry and he'll leave. You know he'll not like what he sees and you've tried so hard to be strong but it chips away at you. You haven't taken your medicine in 4 years because when you feel so strong about someone you manage to convince yourself that your own demons can't catch you. And the ninth and final crime you committed was when he went barreling back outside through the front door and you didn't stop him.

Now you're alone and staring at the wall and you have your phone clutched in your hand even though you know there won't be a call coming in anytime soon. But you're still hoping you'll get the chance to make things right, or at least a little better, before you go to bed tonight. Because you know if you don't then it'll be just another memory seared into your mind, another fight you can't take back and that's irreparable. And maybe it's just you but these numbers seem to be stacking up as of late and you feel like it's becoming a tower that's looming behind you and you know you can't knock it down. You know the one option that's always there and is the quickest way out. You've thought about it more than you'd like to admit and it makes you freeze up whenever it crosses your mind.

You could always leave. Let the damage be done and live with what you've managed to destroy. But you know you can't. Physically, mentally; incomprehensible. You're bound by the thing that wounds you and it's so deeply rooted in your heart that you're afraid if you try to take it out, it'll end you. You're so full of love and it's eating you up and ripping you away but it's the sweetest taste of agony in this world and if you give it up now you'll never get to feel it again. Nine crimes a day doesn't seem that bad when you hit this low and you've learned to look past everything and into the seed of your sin. It's a small crime, and you've got no excuse.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. You know that and she knows it and it hangs above your heads on a string that neither of you are willing to snap. You didn't expect to be worn so thin to the point that you lost yourself somewhere along the way. Sometimes the words you say shock you because they're not you, they can't be. Nobody told you that even though you'd sacrificed so much your biggest one was yet to come. No one mentioned that you'd forget all about precautions and second thoughts. And you wish every day you'd taken a step back when you'd sprinted forward.

There's broken glass in the creases of the floors and it crunches under your feet if you stomp hard enough. There's a sickly feeling under the covers at night that makes you get up and pace sleepless night after sleepless night in a house with silence that sounds so deafening. You forgot all about excuses and why you do the things you do and it eats you up inside. You didn't know about any of these things.

So for now you're sitting in an empty bar acting like you've got the gall to drink the scotch in front of you. But every night you do the same thing and let the ice melt completely and watch the condensation puddle around glass. Thinking you'd find solace in a place like that, where the air is warm and the people are cold. That was the biggest mistake. No one watches you or sees the pain you're swallowing down with a heavy heart. The man sitting beside you passed out long ago with his hand clutched around his beer bottle and when you look at him you're so frightened it's going to be like looking into a mirror. You thought you were better than all this, and that was your first crime. You knew you'd been broken down and remodeled by the war. You knew you left a boy and came back an old man. You'd seen so much blood shed and horrible atrocities that there are blank spots in you memory. You know what a gun feels like no matter which side you were on when the shooting happened. But she made you feel strong and you got cocky and didn't think about how a virus never leaves but instead just spreads and grows bigger. Pretending you were ready was your second crime. You weren't ready to be so out in the open, you weren't ready to be dropped back into society and interact with the people around you. Then the walls crumbled inevitably and you were so afraid you'd break. You were so afraid your fear would consume you and you'd lose her. So you channeled all those thoughts into anger, and that was your third crime. Who else would get the most heat from your flames? You burned her with them, and that was your fourth crime. You watched as you spiraled out of control and let your words steal the smile from her face. But you were too prideful, too full of yourself to come clean and just admit you were falling apart. That was your fifth crime; not trusting her enough. She'd held you together for so long and she'd promised to take anything that came up right by your side. She'd been so sincere and you just couldn't find enough power to completely relinquish your trust to her. She hadn't seen what you were and all you'd become and you weren't entirely sure yourself. Not stopping the episodes when you had the chance was your sixth crime. You'd wasted so much time that you were being triggered by the smallest things; the deep color of red washed veins or the ominous sound of thunder rolling through the sky like a battalion. You'd become weak, helpless, afraid of the slightest movements. Trying to speak over her when she brought it up was your seventh crime. She wouldn't let it go, and as much as you knew that was the right thing to do you just couldn't hear it. It nagged at you and put fish hooks in your conscious, tugging, tugging, and pulling you under. So you tried to be louder than all the noise in your head and soon you'd forgotten what it sounded like to whisper. Running away from her when you felt like it was too much was your eighth crime. And the last and most important one, your ninth crime that made you sick down to your very core, was that you didn't turn around and go back to apologize, to stop all her pain and be the anchor again in the tsunami of your relationship.

No matter how many times you walked off though, no matter how many times you walked away from it, the thought of actually leaving and never coming back makes your blood curdle. You were a casualty to this life and you'd wasted so much time, but the moment you thought of erasing her completely so you could both go your separate ways you curled up inside yourself. It's the reason you're still sitting inside this bar. It's knowing you have something so violently and painfully great that you can't leave or you'll have actually given up the only source of hope in your life. You've done 9 crimes every day for the past month, but you'd rather continue living in a nightmare than waking up to find you're all alone.

It doesn't happen until around 1 in the morning. But it's consecutive and poignant, and you know you're done. You don't like the way you've made things and the blame you have isn't enough to lose everything over. So you stand up from your desolation on the floor and you rush home from the sleazy bar you tried to lose yourself in. You try to pick up some of the glass and you come home to the porch light on. You hear the door open and you make your way into the room. And if it isn't the saddest and lowest point you've reached, then you don't know what is. You're a mess and you're bleeding out all over the floor with all the words you want to say but there's not enough space for them in this little house. And they haven't looked so beautiful to you in your entire life because you're mad and you're sad and you're so desperate that they're everything you need but you've been denying of yourself.

She starts to cry and it upsets her that she's letting him see it. But he sees her armor isn't all titanium and invincibility and she's got bullet holes riddled all over her body that he knows he can heal. And he lets out a choked sigh that's half laugh, half sob, and it's so raw and bloody he bites his tongue. But she sees he's at a loss for words, that he's been thinking so much in that head of his that he's got a string of realizations in his mind that he's ready, just unsure, to tell. And he's not sure he's going to be able to keep it together and she's not sure if she'll be able to catch all the pieces with all the cracks in her skin but maybe it's worth a shot. They feel like masochists that have run out of their fix and can't help but crawl back for more. Their love is another entity entirely, a sadistic force that has them both ensnared in a trap that everyone forgot to tell them about. And when they meet in the middle and a pair of bare feet and laced boots touch, it's not the most beautiful sight. Noses inches away from each other, parted lips that breathe a silent conversation. Words that transcend understanding floating like smoke from the tip of a tongue. Hands that feebly reach out for a solid place to hold onto, fingers connecting with arms that might as well be life jackets.

I want to speak, says one ghosted kiss.

So do I, says the other tender touch.

There's so much you deserve to know, says both heart beats.

And for the first time in a long time, neither of them knowing if things will be any different in the morning, they're content with their situation.

9 crimes becomes 8, 8 becomes 6, and 6 becomes 2, and 2 becomes a smile.


End file.
